Stronger Than Eve
by Samantha Bridges
Summary: What might have happened after Starling's night on the Chesapeake with Noble Pilcher? The GD returns to check up on his little bird, and Starling finds herself having to prove to both men that she is strong enough to resist the temptation Lecter offers.
1. Genesis

_A plot bunny. Canon is book (SotL, with some background bits pulled from Hannibal and RD), then it deviates into its own little AU. Clarice, Hannibal, and Pilch are not my characters, I am merely borrowing them for a bit. I always wondered what might have happened after Clarice's night with Pilch up on the Chesapeake. Also making an appearance is Clarice's mother. Liberties were taken concerning her because SotL isn't exactly clear when/if she passed away. For this, she's alive for at least Clarice's first years in the FBI. Enjoy!_

_Stronger Than Eve_

_Genesis_

The long lasting Indian Summer was waning, casting the last days of warmth and carelessness in a more nostalgic light. Children sat in the late evening sun on the corner, selling lemonade and Kool-aid. Parents and neighbors walked dogs and chatted amiably, some sipping lemonade. A few smiled and waved as the mint green Taurus turned onto the street. The driver waved back and continued up to the quiet col-de-sac a block up ahead. A garage door opened to admit the Taurus, which is parked to an older, but no less cared for, Toyota Celica. The garage door closes.

Clarice M. Starling, two years out of the FBI Academy and making her living by working as a tech agent, steps into a small laundry room. As she closes the door behind her she is greeted by a quartet of dogs, all shoving and short brown hair, trying to get her attention. Her purse and makeshift briefcase are left on the washer lid as she pushes her way through. The house is quiet save for the sound of a local NPR station on the stereo. She follows the sound, winding her way down the hall, dogs following in her wake. The living room is found, and she collapses onto the sofa, releasing a sigh she's carried all day and taking her first relaxed breath since she awoke twelve hours prior.

Two dogs piled onto the couch with her, two others at her feet, paws on feet and heads on paws. One dog on the couch laid his front paws on her lap, staring up at her with doleful brown eyes, head settling onto paws asher hand dropped to pat the large ear, massaging the floppy ears. Clarice had grown up with hound dogs, and they seemed to be the only thing of her past life that she had held onto. Her eyes close, and she remembers the days when her father shared Sno-Balls and oranges with her in the kitchen. Funny, she could always retrieve the memories of her father in happier times, but she could only see her mother suffering.

On the mantel of the fireplace was an array of pictures. Pictures of starling graduating college, graduating the FBI Academy. Pictures of the dogs, who were the stand-ins for children not often talked about, but surely to come. More graduation pictures, these not her owns. A man, black haired and lean, receiving his doctoral hood. And in the center of it all, something Clarice had never believed she'd see- herself in a wedding gown, smiling on the arm of the man from the other pictures. A smaller picture sat just in front of the wedding portrait, Clarice in her wedding dress, and her mother beaming next to her. Starling's only clear and happy memory of her mother.

She only wished her father had been there.  
.-.-.-.

_Starling stared into her reflection i the full length mirror, trying to connect with the woman she saw there. Ardelia was there, over her shoulder, hand squeezing Clarice's._

'_You'll do fine.' she told her friend. Clarice looked back and smiled. She turned away from her reflection and hugged Delia. _

'_Thanks.'_

_Delia grinned. 'Always. Now, we've got a wedding to get you to. Johnny's waiting in the hall.'_

_It made Starling a little sad to think of John Brigham at times. He'd asked her something once, and she'd told him she couldn't. He asked if they could be friends, and meant it. She'd said yes, and meant it. Now he would walk her down the aisle on her wedding day since her father wouldn't be there. That made Starling sad to think about as well._

_In the hall with Brigham stood a grey haired woman, whose strong cheekbones and hazel eyes belied her relation to Starling. Clarice hugger her, smiling and looking deep into those eyes, seeing her ancestors looking back. 'Momma, don't cry. Today's a happy day.'_

'_I am happy, Clarice, I am.' She smiled at her daughter, the first of the family to go to college and to be more than a back country washer-woman. 'If only Daddy could've seen you, bless him.' As Brigham patted Rita Mae Starling's shoulders, he caught Clarice Starling's eyes._

'_Bless you, too, Starling.' he said, and it sounded as strange as ever on his tongue. Starling smiled and reached over to give his arm a squeeze._

'_Thank you, Johnny.'_

_Delia made the importance of time known and ushered the small group down the hallway. Clarice took a deep breath before the sanctuary doors opened. From here on out, nothing would ever be the same.  
.-.-.-._

_The reception was up on the Chesapeake, up at Crawford's brother's house. It was small, mostly her new husband's family. Children and dogs wove their way, barking and laughing, through the legs of the grown ups. Clarice was smiles and brightness, on the arm on of her husband. Johnny was a good man and was dancing with Rita Mae on the dance floor, and it pleased Clarice to see the brightness in her mother as well. Her enjoyment of the champagne was getting to her, and Clarice whispered up to her husband that she was going to step away for a moment. He grinned at her and gave her a quick kiss before sending her on her way. Crawford stopped her on the way up to the house to share his congratulations with her again. Clarice accepted and continued up the slope of the lawn._

_The house was large and quiet, and Clarice wound her ways down hallways, eventually finding the bathroom. She listened to her own footsteps on old hardwood as she came back out. She stopped just inside the kitchen, looking out the large windows that overlooked the yard and the bay. Something in the trees outside the window to her right caught her eye. She turned, moving towards the windows. Through the old glass she saw a man, in the thick hedge. Something tripped in Clarice's memory, and she went for the door. Around the corner of the porch, across the side yard. The hedges were empty. Around the hedge, a man walking calmly away, back towards her._

_Clarice made it to the street, heels hitting the asphalt and halting there, eyes wide. 'Wait!' The man continued two steps then stopped. Clarice hadn't expected that, and stood silent, waiting. Her heart was in her throat for a reason she could not pinpoint. Smoothly, the stranger turned to face her direction, eyes shaded behind dark lenses. He smiled, something familiar rising the hair on Clarice's neck. She didn't breath as he spoke, simply._

'_Congratulations, Clarice.'_

_And he walked away._

_Clarice M. Starling, FBI agent and newlywed, had no idea how long sh stood there. She felt a hand on her arm, and it broke her fascination. She looked up into her husband's face, relief flooding her features._

'_What's wrong, Clarice? You look like you've seen a ghost.'_

'_Or something like that.' she shook her head. 'I... I'm sorry.'_

_He smiled, and she smiled, she couldn't help it. 'Its okay. They want to cut the cake, so I guess they need us.' he shrugged and she laughed. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her down across the lawn. The happy couple.  
.-.-.-._

'Hey, Clarice.' even before opening her eyes, Starling felt the dogs' attention shift. Tails thumped against the couch, and Clarice's lips curved into a smile. Opening her eyes she found a pair of witchy black eyes watching hers. He smiled, and leaned forward to give her a kiss. She accepted, and laughed pleasurably as the dogs jostled, trying to get in on the action.

She shoved aside the dog half in her lap, reaching out a hand to get some help off the couch. 'Really, you'd think they didn't have you around half the day, Pilch.' she teased. Her husband grinned.

'Yeah, I abuse them so much.'

Clarice grinned. "I'm sure.' she laughed. Starling had spent just over a year as Mrs. Dr. Noble Pilcher. She was happier and more content than she had been in a very long time, and she didn't regret for a minute her decision. Noble led her to the kitchen, the couple trailing dogs, as they began to exchange notes about the day. Neither knew that from this day on, nothing would ever be the same.  
.-.-.-.


	2. Violez mon couer

_A/N- Short chapter, but a chapter nonetheless. _

_  
Violez mon couer_

It was in the darkest part of the night that Noble Pilcher rolled over in the bed, reaching across for the comfort of his wife. He awoke slowly as he felt nothing but cold sheets where Clarice's warm body should have been. He sat up in bed, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he found her vague silhouette by the soft glow of the night light. She'd refused to sleep without one for some time now, since the dreams had begun.

Since the nightmares.

It wasn't uncommon for Clarice to alight from her bed in the middle of the night, sometimes she found her way back, sometimes Pilch never noticed and found her lying on the couch downstairs, half under a dog, with the rest gathered around the couch. Some nights, he awoke and found her by the window, staring at the stars. Tonight was one of those nights. The room was abnormally cold as he swung his feet off the bed. He could see Clarice's head turn towards him as the bedsprings squeaked. A breeze puffed the curtains around Starling, and he could hear the bone-dry rattle of leaves blowing down the street.

'I'm sorry I woke you.' Clarice whispered, seeing Noble cross the room to her. He was tall in the night, features in shadow, concern telegraphed off him waves, though. He slid the window closed before stepping behind Starling. He wrapped his arms around her, bearing her weight as she sank into him. He could smell her shampoo, the almond one she had grown fond of.

'You didn't.' he assured her, then, gently 'What was it this time?'

Clarice shook her head. What was it every time? She'd been through the Bureau mandated counseling afterwards, had talked with the headpshrinker about hunting Buffalo Bill while he hunted her in the basement. Talked about the encounters with Dr. Lecter in the Dungeon. But she never talked with anyone about how he had penetrated her mind, and now haunted her psyche. She adored and thanked Noble silently for never pushing the issue, just accepting it. Even in a relationship built on trust, one had to keep their secrets.

Pilch loosened his arms as he felt her begin to turn in front of him. He looked down on her, and could make out the tracks of stiff-dried tears on her face. He felt powerless at times like these, as if he had failed her somehow. He didn't know why she was so disturbed, but he had theories. They would talk sometimes, and she'd reveal little things, giving him glimpses, but nothing more than that. It wasn't a lack of trust, he knew they both trusted each other implicitly, but, everyone had secrets.

'Let's go back to bed.' she told him, trying to watch his eyes in the dark. He nodded and bent to kiss her forehead, then released her and followed her across the room. The couple shuffled around still sleeping dogs, then settled back into bed to await the dawn.  
.-.-.-.

It was still morning when the British Airways Concorde's wheels first touched American soil. There were the normal rustlings in the cabin as the stewardess went through her much practiced welcome to speech. A man towards the front of the cabin smiled to himself as he peered out his small porthole to see the maze of runways passing bay. While the seats were smaller than what he might have been accustomed to on a typical trans-Atlantic flight, that small comfort could easily be traded for the quicker passage. The streamlined supersonic liner came to stop at the Jetway, the unspoken signal for passengers to rise from their seats. He bent and retrieved his small carry-on from beneath the seat in front of him, and disembarked with the rest of the passengers.

Customs didn't pose a problem. His credentials were all in perfect order, and he was soon waved through. The gentleman, slim and unremarkable behind dark glasses, wheeled his single checked suitcase down to the rental car desks. He stood patiently in the queue, and again created no fuss at the counter. Within fifteen minutes he was whisked away on a shuttle bus to the off site lot where his car was waiting. Luggage in the trunk, he accelerated smoothly away from the airport in his rented Lincoln, enjoying the top of the hour news on a local NPR station and enjoying the brisk air that came through the open sunroof. He decidedly savoured his freedom.

His first arrival to this country had been just as remarkable as this most recent one. It was always his departures that drew attention.  
.-.-.-.


	3. si vrai l'amour a régné

_A/N- what do you do when you can't get to sleep and you have to be up in two hours anyway? Why, work on a chapter, of course!_

_si vrai l'amour a régné_

Clarice spent the better part of her Saturday in her cramped cubicle, tucked far out of view in the bureau's Buzzard's Point office. Ostensibly, she was a tech agent, spending most days placing taps, playing with tracking devices, and doing as she was told. After all of that came the paperwork. She despised the paperwork, always wondering if she were in this cubicle simply because someone had pegged her as a secretary. It was three o'clock when she shoved the last report into its folder and slapped it into the outbox. Done. She ran her hands back through her loose auburn hair, tipping back in her chair and sighing.

She and Noble had a required function tonight. Clarice had grown up at just above poverty level, living in a clapboard home with her parents and siblings. A trip downtown was considered a special occasion. Noble's family was the cliché New England well-to-do. Tonight's program included dinner with his parents, then off to he special viewing of the new exhibit at the museum, where Noble's parents were on the board, and their son worked. She actually liked his parents, and his mother had adopted her within minutes of their first meeting. It was just the thought of all those other boring, dusty folks who would insist on her opinion of...

She rocked forward, surprised when the phone rang. Shit, she should be going, but if she let the phone go without answering it, someone would surely nag her about it later. Starling grabbed for the receiver, leaning elbows on the desk as she answered with a hopefully professional sounding 'Agent Starling.'

She was met with silence. 'Hello?' she asked the open line, still not getting a response. Muttering, she replaced the receiver in its cradle. Odd. She shivered, suddenly feeling cold and claustrophobic in her small cubicle. She pulled open a desk drawer and yanked her purse out. She tromped out of the office, tossing off a wave to the other agents on duty that fall afternoon. Wearing a battered jean jacket, she emerged outside into the pale sunshine. A stiff breeze swirled leaves and bits of trash around her feet as she turned the collar up against the wind. The warmth of the car was welcome, but she still couldn't shake the chill that seemed to sit at the base of her spine. She hadn't been able to for awhile now.  
.-.-.-.

Noble was standing in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom, attempting to tie his bowtie. Clarice was at the sink, applying the final touches of makeup to her face, mouth open as she leaned closer to the mirror and dabbed mascara onto her lashes. Noble was getting nowhere, and was undoing the failed knot for the fourth time. Clarice finished her mascara application and blinked experimentally, looking at her husband's reflection.

'You're doing it wrong.' She pronounced, dropping the mascara tube back into the basket it had come from. He looked over at her, wishing he could look less frustrated and helpless and more, well, manly. Clarice waved her hand, getting him to step back a little ways from the mirror. She slid in front of him, brushing his hands from the sorry looking tie and beginning the work anew. A few moments later, she had a perfectly tied bowtie and she straightened his collar. Noble leaned to his right a little to peer into the glass and check out her work for himself. He looked down at her, slightly bemused.

'How come you know how to do that, Clarice?'

She smiled and winked. 'Trade secrets, Pilch. If I told you, I'd have to kill you.'

He laughed. 'You're an FBI agent, not a spy.' Now she laughed.

'Hmmm. You never know.' She reached and pinched off a piece of lint from his shoulder, then brushed the fabric smooth again. On her toes now to give him a kiss. Marriage, he concluded, had its benefits. She slid away from him, off to find her shoes. He appreciated her legs, long under the black dress, as she walked away. She called out a request to him, looking for a necklace and earrings. She trusted him to pick those out, she knew he had good taste, but a suggestion never hurt.

"Pearls, perhaps?' she asked, securing the ankle strap on her left shoe. She heard a non-committal noise from Pilch, then his footsteps coming across the room to her. A shadow appeared over her and she looked up, finishing the strap one handed. Pilcher smiled, having something in mind other than pearls. He opened a long black velvet box, holding it just below her nose so she could see its contents.

'I was thinking emeralds.' Her little gasp was worth it, even though she tried to admonish him a moment later. He would have none of it, carefully removing the necklace from the case. She obligingly stood for him, watching in the dresser mirror as he stepped behind her, draping the pendant around he neck and sweeping her loose hair off the nape of her neck so he could secure the clasp. Fingers touched the beautifully cut emerald, and she shivered as he kissed the back of her neck. Clarice removed the earrings from the box, preferring to put these in herself. Noble had tried once, and both had agreed once was enough.

Clarice Starling admired herself in the mirror a moment, then turned to her husband. Reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, raising her head to meet his as he bowed to give her a kiss.

'Thank you.' She whispered. Noble smiled, glad. He caught a glimpse of his watch with his arms still behind her back. 'We'll be late if we don't hurry.' He was rewarded with a low 'hmmmm...' Clarice obviously had things other than dinner on her mind. 'Later.' He promised, bestowing another kiss on those soft lips before releasing her. Clarice sighed and acquiesced, knowing Pilch was really good about keeping his promises.  
.-.-.-.

Clarice had been just about kidnapped by Rebecca Pilcher once they had arrived at the museum. A glass of chardonnay in hand, Clarice was in the midst of a group of women, laughing over one woman's husband's attempt to perform a simple home repair. Her laugh was as genuine as the other women's', but Clarice felt out of her depth. The image of a wolf in sheep's clothing kept coming to mind. In addition, something was causing an unpleasant buzz in her head, making her thoughts sound like a swarm of bees. She was amazed no one else heard it. She smiled at just the right moment, nodding as she sipped her wine. Suddenly, a new voice was intruding into the conversation.

'...just have to meet him. He's put in an application to take over Clancy's place on the board. Poor man, its just so sad what happened to him.' No one mentioned that Clancy Matthews had snapped one day and attempted to set his house on fire, much to the despair of his wife, who was visiting her sister in Rhode Island at the time. Now poor Clancy was under medication and supervision at a local psychiatric hospital. The though of a psychiatric hospital unnerved Clarice, and she was glad that the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was now closed. It hadn't remained open long after Chilton's disappearance, and while Clarice found his sudden departure odd, she couldn't find any sympathy for him. Mrs. DeGraffe had left and was returning, on the arm of elegant gentleman, presumably the man who was intending to replace Clancy.

'Ladies, may I introduce Dr. Jarema.' He smiled charmingly at the ladies, causing most to blush as they smiled back. They introduced each other in turn, and Clarice didn't realize she was staring until he reached to shake her hand. 'Clarice Starling.' She managed, feeling the soft, firm hand take hers.

The gentleman, he was disturbingly familiar, smiled. 'A pleasure, Agent Starling.' He purred, Clarice withdrew her hand sharply.

'How do you know I'm an FBI agent?'

Another charming smile, showing small white teeth. 'I do read the papers. If I remember correctly, you were the one who rescued Miss Catherine Baker and killed Jame Gumb, correct?' Starling nodded woodenly, ring clinking against her wineglass as she tightened her grip on it. 'Lovely necklace.' He added, winking, before turning to greet her mother in law. As the group was preoccupied, Clarice slipped away. She was unnoticed by the women, but she knew their newfound board member nominee was watching her.

Noble looked for her, not having seen her over with his mother or her friends. Eyes scouting about the room he saw her in a corner by herself. Something was wrong. He excused himself from the men he'd been talking to and headed over to her. She smiled tiredly at him as he approached. Concern played on his features.

'Clarice, are you feeling alright?' She nodded, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

'Just a little tired, Pilch. Can we leave soon?' Pilch surveyed the large room and then checked his watch.

'Certainly. I'll go collect our coats and let mother know we're leaving.' Clarice smiled genuine appreciation.

'Great, and I'll slip off to the powder room real quick and meet you in the lobby.'

Pilch grinned. 'Sounds like a plan.' He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. She released his hand and headed off across the room, heading in the opposite direction of her husband. Neither saw the new gentleman disengage and excuse himself from the people he was talking to, carefully following in Starling's wake.

Starling knew from experience that the bathrooms here were poorly located. She headed down a hallway, hearing her heels click against the tile. Her mind was still buzzing, and she was debating whether it was the wine or the introduction she'd been through that made it worse. Her hand was on the bathroom door, ready to push it open when she heard a shoe squeak behind her. She whirled around, chastising herself for being too jumpy. The owner of the shoe smiled apologetically.

'Sorry for startling you, Clarice.'

And that was when it clicked.  
.-.-.-.


	4. moitié d'une voûte

_moitié d'une voûte_

'Dr. Lecter.' Starling breathed, incapacitated and unnerved by his sudden appearance for a moment, but no longer than that. Instinct kicked in, her right hand diving to where her holster would ride. Her fingers found nothing, sliding along her hip clothed in black silk. Shock and realization registered plainly on her face, her actions earning a chuckle from the doctor.

'Clarice, you are decidedly unarmed this evening.' His lips curved into a smile, and Clarice met his eyes hard. Her mind was racing. Quick. Decision time. She was limited on options. Taking him down herself would be foolish, she knew what he was capable of, even if it was only secondhand knowledge. Scream for help? No, that would provoke a riot, plus she had no idea how he'd react- leave her, or leave with her. Call him on that latter thought.

'You said you'd never call on me, Dr. Lecter.' Tone neutral, she was calm, do not attempt any aggression, her mind told her.

Dr. Lecter nodded. 'That I did promise you Clarice, and perhaps your definition of that promise and mine are two different things. Note that I also told you that the world was more interesting with you in it. I would never call on you to, say, seek retribution for your efforts to re-incarcerate me.' He paused, thinking, then grinned and winked at her. 'Social calls, however, are another matter entirely.'

Something important here. Courtesy. Barney had survived during his time with Lecter because of his sheer courtesy towards the infamous sociopath. He had extended courtesy to her, and he would not renege on his promise. She hoped. It was quite a lot to place your life on the word of a serial killer. 'I'd prefer to keep our relationship professional, Doctor.' she heard herself telling him. She saw him considering, nodding, but preparing to disagree. Not the right path, Starling informed herself. No way back now.

Before Dr. Lecter could respond to her request a third voice intruded. 'Clarice?' rebounded off the corridor walls, causing two pairs of eyes to flick in its direction. A mix of concern and relief flooded Clarice's features, but she stood mute too long. Her name bounded down the corridor again, growing louder as her saviour came closer. Dr. Lecter seized the moment, reaching up with him right hand to gently touch her cheek, directing her attention back on him. Her eyes locked with his, wide as he lowered his face to hers. Everything in her body and instinct told her to scream, but she remained mute, just watching in eerie fascination. She wasn't expecting the sensation, the softness, when his lips brushed hers.

'Bye, Clarice.' he murmured, drawing away and quickly walking down the hall, disappearing out a marked emergency door. Clarice started, intending to bolt after him, but stopped just short of her first step when she heard Noble's voice behind her.

'Clarice!' she whipped her head, looking stricken, unable to pursue, and unable to give up the chase. Pilcher's faced harboured concern, fear instantly flooding his system. His wife was yearning towards the red lit exit sign, and he began to hurry towards her, polished wingtips scuffing against the floor. The distress was even more evident up close, and he grabbed her shoulders, turning her towards him, looking past her shoulder at the door. 'Clarice? Are you okay?' he looked down at her, brushing a loose strand of hair form her face. 'Clarice?'

She caught his hand, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Just for a second... 'I... I'm okay, Pilch. There was a...' serial killer? No, hold onto that. 'There was a man, he startled me and took off when he heard you coming.' Noble's eyes widened.

'Where'd he go? Clarice, did he do anything to you?' she could hear fear in his voice, and something upset. He'd been unable to protect her. She shook her head, smiled a weak little smile.

'I'm fine. Don't worry about it, I was just a little startled.' She squeezed his hand, which she hadn't yet let go of. It eased her husband a little, but not by much. She didn't tell him that anything Dr. Lecter had done to had already been done long ago. Pilch was talking to her softly, and she was walking with him down the hallway. He retrieved her coat from where it had fallen to the floor in his dash to her, and draped it over her shoulders. They left the museum by a side entrance.

Starling was quiet on the car ride home, her mind pouring over her encounter. She eventually came down to it. Seeing him hadn't disturbed her the most. What she felt after that kiss, and what still lingered there, bothered her the most. There was something inviting about the abyss she had glimpsed, tempting like the street below a suicide jumper. Somewhere at the bottom, after the pain and before the light, he waited for her.

Noble stayed awake most of the night, watching his love toss and turn in her sleep. She spoke incoherently, in random snatches he never fully understood. The only thing he knew for certain was the violent 'No!' he'd received when he'd reached to comfort her. He sat, suddenly feeling very distant, and very alone. It was like watching a suicide jumper take that step and rush at you, and knowing there was nothing you could do now to save them.  
.-.-.-.


	5. Obscurité interne

_A/N- Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing this plot bunny. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm enjoying writing a Clarice centered fic. Special thanks to my office tech, who doesn't know he volunteered himself to land in one of my fics (turnabout is fair play, though. He put me in a Trek scenario he's writing.). Well, off we go dear readers.  
.-.-.-.  
_

_Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind  
Cannot bear very much reality.  
-from 'Burnt Norton' from 'Four Quarters', T.S. Elliot_

_Obscurité interne_

Almost a week had passed since the party. Clarice had retreated into her own locked silence, and her subdued manner had cast a fog over the home. Even the dogs had been quiet, staying closer than usual than Starling, the only thing interrupting her muteness was when she tripped over one of them and set to cursing. They keened at the door when she left, and waited for her to arrive home, large sentinels on the living room floor. She'd taken to working longer days, coming home late, but coming home always to a dinner Noble had made. Her actions had effects on him as well. He was also working later, and rising earlier. They'd been through it before, in those first six months after the encounter with Jame Gumb. The difference then was that they hadn't been living together.

It was Thursday when Clarice didn't come home. Noble panicked, until he caught sight of the note on the fridge, scrawled in her boarding-school taught hand.

_Noble,  
Up at the cottage, took the dogs. Will be home later._

_Love,  
Clarice_

In the small note, Pilcher knew she was going to be all right. She'd gone up to the house he and his sister shared on the Chesapeake. His sister jokingly referred to the creaky old house as 'the cottage', something no one would call anything of its sheer size and age. Clarice had laughed the first time she'd hard, and immediately adopted it. Noble opened the fridge door, stared for a long time, then decided to go out. He rang Roden up, and they met for a beer.

In the comfortable atmosphere of the bar, over beer and chicken wings, Pilcher related the events of Saturday's party to his former colleague. They had gone separate ways after working together for so long, Pilcher going to Baltimore, Roden staying with the Smithsonian. They never cut ties, but there was no love lost between Starling and Roden. Pilcher stared into his longneck as Roden came to a conclusion about Clarice's behaviour.

'She's having an affair.' Pilcher looked up at him, almost taken aback. Roden's eyes gleamed. 'Leave her.'

Pilch sighed. 'Roden, she's not having an affair. She wasn't afraid when I... no, she was afraid when I found her, but it wasn't fear of being caught.' He swigged the last of the Bud, rolling the bottle in his hands afterwards. She had looked like she had seen a ghost, to Pilcher's eyes. A very unfriendly ghost. 'She looked frightened.' he finished, setting the bottle down. He reached for his wallet, dropping a couple bills on the table to cover his share of the tab. 'Thanks for the beers, Roden, I'll see you later.'

Roden protested, apologized, trying to make up for his mistake. He'd hurt Pilch, he realized later. Pilcher, for his part, walked out the door, down the block, to his beloved Celica. The little compact started faithfully, and he drove home, a little buzzed and a little more concerned than he had been when he had left home.

He didn't see the silver sedan following four car lengths behind him.  
.-.-.-.

Clarice had driven up the coast, four dogs in the Taurus, heads hung out windows, tongues lolling and ears flapping. The lakehouse stood grey and somber in the early evening, trying to look dignified, like an old woman past her prime. She parked in the gravel drive, and let the dogs loose from the car. They took off like shots, all in separate directions, then forming back into a pack. Grabbing her coat, warmed by dogs laying on it, she followed behind them, sometimes calling to them to keep them in view. She walked down on the sand, watching the waves lap, creating patterns and erasing them. She walked for a long time, then sat, staring at the distance.

She'd sat too long, and her body protested when she rose, knocking sand from her bottom, whistling for the dogs. She led them back up to the house, going inside for a few minutes to get some towels to protect her seats from the wet, sandy dogs. The drive back to Baltimore was peaceful. Clarice listened to the road, and thought of home.  
.-.-.-.

Pilcher was almost asleep when he felt his wife's presence in bed, warm against his back, arms around him. He woke himself enough to roll over to face her. She looked better, but still drawn and tired. He smile, and she smiled back.

'Hi.' he said, stifling a yawn. She laughed.

'Next time I won't come home if that's the welcome I inspire.' He smiled, and apologized. 'How's Roden?' she asked.

'The same. He told me to leave you, that you were cheating on me.' A dangerous truth, but one that needed to be said. Clarice grimaced, he saw anger in her eyes, then she buried it. Some things weren't important enough to mull over. She had things herself that she needed to tell Pilcher.

She stayed quiet too long. "What?' Noble asked gently, a knot in his stomach tightening, brief suspicions that Roden was right. He put a hand on Clarice's shoulder, felt it rise and fall as she took a deep breath.

'I went to see Steve today.' His eyes held a question until he registered the name. The psychiatrist she had seen in during her mandatory counseling, Dr. Steven Elliot. He'd met the guy once, and was pretty impressed with how he'd helped Clarice. On the other hand, if Clarice had gone back to see him, and with her dislike of headpshrinkers, then something must've troubled her more deeply than he had thought. 'Why?' he asked, brushing hair from Clarice's cheek. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, glitteringly wet.

'I... I've been... The man in the hallway the other night.' She was trying. She wanted to tell Noble, she'd kept secrets from him for too long, but she couldn't will her to speak the words that were needed. She fumbled, trying for something, anything. It was getting her nowhere. 'The man, the other night, he reminded me of someone else. I think.' Pilch was quiet, only asking 'Who?', allowing her to continue at her own pace.

'Hannibal Lecter.' She watched Pilch stiffen in the silence that followed the name.

'But it wasn't him?'

Truth? To lie here? Best to be in between. "I'm not sure. I don't think so. I don't know.'

Pilcher drew her closer, and Clarice placed a hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat there. She closed her eyes.

'Let's go to the cottage tomorrow, Pilch.' He nodded agreeing with her, before he realized what she'd said.

'Tomorrow's Friday, Clarice. We have work.'

Her smile was sad and tired when she looked at him, she was sad and tired. 'I've gotten a week off, under orders from the Doc. I'm stressing myself sick, he said. Or rather, would be if this continued.'

Pilch worked it through in his head. On such short notice it would be hard, but he eventually assured Clarice that they would leave tomorrow afternoon and stay through the weekend at least. She was curled tight against him, and he waited for sleep to come, listening to her deepening breaths, and then it came. For the first time in weeks, Clarice slept in silence.  
.-.-.-.

A silver luxury sedan cruised slowly down the suburban streets, glass and chrome glinting under streetlamps, headlights illuminating street signs and front yard landscaping. It slowed, right blinker on, and turned into cul-de-sac. It idled a moment too long, brake lights flared, in front of a house at the center of the cul-de-sac. Away, then, stopping at the corner, blinker on again. Sedately driving out of the neighbourhood, no one concerned by the visit, no one the wiser to their visitor. Tomorrow night, things might change.  
.-.-.-.


End file.
